


Turtles

by firefrog



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefrog/pseuds/firefrog
Summary: Just a little chat between Crowley and Aziraphale ...but there is something missing, right?





	Turtles

"Turtles do not carry elephants on their backs," Crowley stated firmly. "Not even star swimming turtles. I mean, think about it. Elephants have bodily functions same as the rest of creation, so before long there would be a great big pile of sh...."

"Don't be so quarrelsome," Aziraphale cut in primly. "Pass the lemons and the pepper over, would you?"

Crowley handed the items over with a small frown. He didn't know how the angel could ruin perfectly good seafood by drowning it in condiments like that. He'd already watched as the angel order more mayonnaise to smother his shrimp in.

"One assumes the elephants 'fertiliser' is what makes up the landmass of disc world," Aziraphale told him, cracking open a crab leg with his even white teeth. 

"I suppose their piss makes up their seas then, does it?" Crowley snarked grouchily. The demon was feeling out of sorts and willing to take his odd mood out on his companion.

"Maybe they come from the elephant tears, being wept for lack of a cryogenic space ship to take them through the universe, instead of a slow swimming turtle." 

The analogy had come out of nowhere, and for some odd reason the angel felt as if he had scored a point, though he wasn't sure why.

They both paused and tilted their heads, something about mountains and the relative hardness of bird’s beaks tapping politely at their buried sub-consciences. 

Aziraphale had a tune from The Sound of Music playing in his head and wondered if Crowley was responsible. The demon knew how he felt about that movie....

"Anyhow," Crowley continued hastily, "why all this sudden interest in science fiction?"

"I think it's called fantasy fiction, dear." Aziraphale corrected him, slipping a giant prawn between his lips. Crowley watched it disappear enviously.

"Right, whatever, why the interest?"

"Because it defines humanity. What their imagination's breed they strive to make real. Remember those first terrible stories about trips to the moon? And that film!"

They smirked at each other, remembering the hand Crowley had had in corrupting early film production and the lengths Aziraphale had gone to too stop him. Cream pies had been the angel’s ideal answer to everything back then.

"So you think the next big space race will involve turtles?" Crowley gave his friend an unimpressed look.

"Maybe, although living spaceships have been speculated upon...."

"Uh huh. Well, the further away from floating wooden ships the better, far as I'm concerned. The wet, the cold, not to mention heaving, puking angels."

"Yes, well. It was my first go. I just wanted to keep an eye on the boy, imagine the paper work if he'd sunk and drowned."

"Stupid git. ' _Hey, no, I'm not the Son of God, watch me walk on water and revive the dead_!' Like that wasn't a heaven of a giveaway."

"He did the best that he could, it’s not like he had been taught how to act, not like we tried with….” Aziraphale’s voice faded rapidly as Crowley cut in with,

"Yeah, well _our_ boy did better." The evil smile he’d put on slowly slid off his face however as he realised he had no idea what he was talking about. _Who_ he was talking about.  
"Ever get the feeling you've forgotten something?" he whispered.

"Frequently," Aziraphale whispered back and brought out an expensive bottle of wine from his pocket. "I like to get drunk, at times like those. It really doesn't do to dwell upon them."

Crowley darted his eyes around the restaurant and nodded absently. Wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all....


End file.
